


Dreams on Sarran

by JackieSBlake7



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7349965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSBlake7/pseuds/JackieSBlake7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon wakes up on Sarran</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams on Sarran

Avon raised his gun and smiled, as he waited for the door in Blake’s base to open and his doom to meet him. This was how he had always expected Blake’s futile rebellion to end, in a pointless unremembered tragedy – and there would be others, equally foolish who were inspired to take the same path by their activities, and possibly achieving some fleeting success… though there had been some things he would be glad to be remembered for.  
The door opened, and suddenly he was gasping for air and being pulled out of a cramped space, totally disorientated, which he recognised as a Liberator escape pod. #What# had happened?  
‘He’s alive Cally.’ Avon recognised Vila’s voice.  
‘What, where…’ Avon managed between his gasps for breath: the others did not seem surprised by his confusion. He felt nauseous, and he was sure his headache was masking a massive bruise on the back of his head. He was helped into a sitting position on the ground. It was cold, even with the local sun high in the sky. Vila extracted Orac and switched the computer on.  
‘You were knocked out on the Liberator after the battle, and the emergency capsule door jammed once you landed,’ Cally explained, while Avon was recovering. So he had had an injury- and oxygen-starvation- induced nightmare – which, he decided, he was glad had been unreal, at least in parts. When he had the opportunity he would make use of what was useful that he remembered. He did not consciously disagree with the perception that betrayal was his deepest fear, and that he preferred organising in the background to being a political leader. He #had# felt like damaging Blake at times for the trouble they kept on getting dragged into. Some of the computer-related aspects might be worth pursuing – and the composite teleport system on the Scorpio. He would see if there were persons like the Mellanbys and some of the others… and it would be interesting to see how Blake and someone like Tarrant got on.   
‘I am grateful you got here in time. What is the state of the battle? And the Liberator?’ Avon knew his abruptness would be explained by what he had just been through physically – he need say nothing about the dream. ‘Orac – any information about this planet?’ From what he could see, it differed from what he knew of Cygnus Alpha only in being uninhabited. There were intermittent patches of low growing bushes, the nearest of which looked somewhat spiky, and a grass equivalent covered much of the remainder.  
‘The Liberator will be here in three point eight five hours at the earliest,’ Orac said. ‘As it is below the temperature which humans find comfortable, and will be dark in five point seven recurring hours, you may wish to collect firewood. You may also wish to be aware that the atmospheric oxygen level is lower than on the Liberator.’  
‘We had noticed,’ Vila said sarcastically, as Avon became aware of the problem, now that his breathing was getting back to normal. ‘Before we stop disturbing your researches, tell us how the war’s going?’  
‘Latest indications are that the invaders have been destroyed or are in retreat. It is to be supposed that they are unlikely to return in the near future. Much of the Federation’s forces have also been destroyed in the process of battle.’  
‘Which will please our glorious leader – if he survives,’ Avon said. He managed to stand up, gingerly explored the damage on the back of his head. ‘I think I prefer your method of getting a headache Vila. Just.’  
Vila reached into the escape capsule and took something out. ‘First aid supplies – Gan’s idea.’  
Avon took a couple of painkillers. ‘He could be practical.’ Probably how Gan would have wished to be remembered – and Avon would himself. ‘Can you analyse my injuries Orac?’  
‘I am not a medical computer. Preliminary analysis suggests nothing that will cause serious damage before the Liberator arrives.’  
‘I’ll get the first lot of stuff to burn – won’t have to go so far as we’ll probably need more of it than usual,’ Vila said cheerfully, before adding, ‘Don’t get lost or leave without me.’  
‘Would we do that?’ Avon managed.  
‘You must be getting better,’ Vila teased. ‘Orac – are there any creatures around likely to take a bite out of me – or indeed of you?’  
‘Preliminary indications are in the negative.’  
‘Be a good little rat in a box,’ Vila continued, ‘and get the Liberator here as soon as you can. While you still have a chance of getting yourself some components an alien ship to inspect.’  
‘Sometimes your ideas are remarkably sensible.’  
Avon was glad that somebody else had come up with the idea as well. He tried to imagine Orac arguing with Blake about what should be done next – winning the rebellion or scientific investigation of another alien spaceship. Which would he prefer if the choice came to it?  
Vila went off.  
‘Keep me awake Cally…’ Avon asked. She nodded. The effects of exposure were unlikely – but he did not wish to return to the dream where he had left it: he suspected it would continue unpleasantly. When they met up again, Avon would get some sense into Blake – and, having got him to explain what he intended doing, would listen.  
Avon used an old trick mentioned once in a discussion on the topic, and concentrated on the bits of the dream he liked. Belkov… of course, one of his tutors, and Gambit was the sort of computer he would have created… perhaps they should meet up again and discuss the idea.  
Vila came back with some branches, and extracted a packet from his pocket. ‘I picked these berries – the plant was decorative. What do you make of them Orac?’ They were certainly colourful.  
‘If you plant them they will grow. Immediate analysis shows they are of no obvious use or harm to humans. Kindly put me back in my case – which is both rain and fire proof. I have no further need to analyse the environment unless you come back with something actually interesting.’   
‘Sometimes I almost believe you are sentient Orac – curiosity, a desire not to do anything we find useful if possible, and a strong sense of self preservation,’ Avon said, to tease the computer.  
‘Curiosity is an aspect of any sufficiently advanced intelligence. Define sentience. Why should I not wish to survive? Do not distract me with trivialities.’  
The sky was indeed getting cloudy. Cally had started the fire, which flickered weakly in the low oxygen atmosphere.  
‘We’ve got the message,’ Vila said. ‘Next time I am checking over the escape capsules, I will ensure they all have protection against the weather.’  
‘Have you ever considered becoming a luxury-escape-capsule salesman?’  
‘And when I’m a multimillionaire, would you be jealous Avon?’  
‘As you would need my skills to hack into the production systems I would ensure I had my cut first, before you spent it all.’ It was almost a plausible idea. Now what would the Servalans and nouveaux riches of the galaxy want to take with them? Anything to provide a distraction under the present circumstances – and it might indeed be worth pursuing. What else could such units be used for?  
‘I’ll get some more stuff while you plan it out.’ Vila said and went off again.

It was getting colder and closer towards sunset. There was a rustle in the bushes: Avon was almost looking forward to Vila returning to provide a distraction again. And better that they were all together when the Liberator finally arrived – it seemed to be later than Orac’s claim.  
‘Of all the people in the galaxy, to meet you two here,’ someone who was definitely not Vila said.  
‘Servalan!’ Cally replied.  
Avon almost smiled. This ending would be as ridiculous as the one in his dream – though he regretted not having a last exchange with the others. They were not friends – friendship was a weakness. Working companions, whom he could trust, within limits, was a better definition.  
‘Yes, it is I.’ She was as decoratively dressed as ever – and as dangerous.  
Yet, Avon realised, one aspect of his dream was right – he did find her, and the implicit threat she exuded – desirable. Was the sense of jeopardy why he stayed with Blake and the others? Where was Blake when he was needed most? Where was Vila – and would he show some sense rather than blunder into this confrontation? ‘How did you end up here? Not your sort of place I would imagine,’ Avon said. What did they say about certain animals only attacking if they sensed your fear?  
‘I was going to review the state of the battle…’  
‘As Supreme Commanders do. Usually when the danger is over.’ Avon managed a smile. He almost regretted not being in a position to kiss her… how long would he have lasted with her? A challenge to consider as a theoretical possibility, enjoyable in the abstract rather than the fact. “Imagination our only limit” certainly did appeal.  
‘Naturally – I am not going to put myself in significant danger if I can avoid it. The privileges of rank my friend. Unfortunately my ship was damaged, and so I am here for a little while – you will make pleasing trophies to go back to Earth with. And it is Supreme Commander and President Servalan.’  
‘I was wondering when you would make that move,’ Avon said, in his most bored voice. ‘Don’t expect us to congratulate you.’ There might have been something about a coup in the confusion of messages during the battle – there had been more important things to consider.  
‘Not even in exchange for a Presidential pardon?’ Servalan asked, smiling. ‘The Liberator did prevent a disaster. Something could be arranged. Your choice of postings in the computer industry, Avon, and a negotiated return to your home planet Cally.’ Imprisonment then, by another name – though it was certainly more attractive than Cygnus Alpha. Tempting, if Servalan could be trusted… which neither he nor Cally would. Where was Vila?  
‘But you are not in a position to grant such a pardon.’ All three were startled by the new voice. The officer … a captain, Avon judged, of a group of Federation troopers who “appeared from nowhere”. Klegg’s group’s actual equivalents or another Tarrant? Here there was no escape – until the Liberator would come. Whenever that was.  
‘Explain,’ Cally asked. ‘My companion,’ she indicated Avon, and the emergency capsule, ‘and I were involved in the battle. We do not know the latest news.’  
It appeared their new companions were neutral towards them in the short term at least. ‘We’ve won – if you can call losing fewer ships than the aliens did before they scarpered winning. I suspect we,’ the captain and his troopers from the gesture, ‘won’t be getting our bonus this year – the money’ll be spent on getting some new spaceships put together. Or so they’ll say – more likely to be another presidential palace or three. But the reward offered on this’n’ll do just as well.’ He indicated Servalan. It was clear that Avon and Cally had not been recognised.  
‘Can you explain?’ Avon asked, smiling slightly: greed was often a useful motive. Except when it was directed against himself. Besides they might be given enough time to escape.  
‘I am the President and Supreme Commander, and I will have you up for gross insubordination,’ Servalan said icily, but Avon sensed doubt as well. ‘These are two members of the Liberator crew. One million credits reward apiece, possibly more. I will see to it.’ The captain looked Cally and Avon over and was evidently considering the various options – as were his troop.  
‘You held the breach, so they say.’ His respect was evident. For once Avon was grateful for the notoriety.  
‘We did.’ Everybody looked at the new voice.  
Typical, Avon thought, for Blake to indulge in such a theatrical entrance.  
‘That is Roj Blake. Arrest him immediately! The Federation will reward you handsomely. I shall see to it.’  
‘That as may be. But you are in no position to make such promises. You have been degraded of your rank, and are to be arrested on sight.’  
‘I wanted to say that,’ Blake protested mildly to the captain. Avon decided that his dream – or a visitation by the proverbial tooth fairy – made more sense than what was happening now. ‘Yes, I am Roj Blake.’  
Servalan finally produced her gun, undecided between Blake and the captain, standing close to each other.  
‘Look behind you Servalan,’ a voice called out, and she turned automatically. What sounded like a shot with a rapidly fading echo rang out. Blood appeared on Servalan’s shoulder, her hand jerked – the soldiers went for her. Avon felt a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder, and saw blood dripping on his own hand, from what seemed to be merely a painful flesh wound.  
He cried out and then Blake was supporting him. Cally went to get the medical supplies out of the escape capsule.   
Vila came to the group. ‘I’m sorry Avon – her reactions were better than mine.’  
‘You should be sorry,’ Avon managed. ‘But you’re a thief not a soldier.’ Servalan was being secured.  
‘Thanks Avon,’ Vila replied. The discussion would continue later.  
The captain approached. ‘Can we do anything for you? You did help in Servalan’s arrest – as well as the rest of it.’   
‘We have our own ship,’ Blake said. Avon could see he was fingering the teleport bracelet – one combination of buttons prompted an automatic recall, useful sometimes. One of Vila’s better ideas. ‘Give us time to leave – in a different direction. We will make no claims on the reward for capturing Servalan.’ Blake, Avon reflected, had learnt #something# of diplomacy and getting support.  
The officer smiled, and the troopers who heard seemed pleased. ‘Agreed. For a rebel you’re alright.’ He was already considering the future. Whichever side won, this group of soldiers had their prize – both the Federation and the opposition would be willing to pay for Servalan. If this captain had any skill he might bargain up his reward – he could even be more important in determining the fate of the galaxy than Blake himself. The idea amused Avon, trying to overcome the pain from all his injuries. When he had sufficiently recovered he would put it to Blake, for the pleasure of seeing him annoyed at the idea.  
‘As you wish. Besides – given the way the ships were destroyed them at the top might wish to reconsider what to do with the rebels… if they changed things there might be fewer of you and we might get better postings.’ Obviously the result of much discussion – perhaps the rebels were making the wrong contacts.  
‘Let us get out of here,’ Avon said quietly, feeling sick and dizzy and oxygen starved. Vila would enjoy teaching Orac jokes. Orac would enjoy acquiring information that was totally useless. He would research Terminal – he recalled vague details on the subject – and Gauda Prime. The name of the dream Belkov’s computer was Gambit…

Then they were in the teleport bay, and Avon allowed himself to pass out – he did not care for enduring any more medical intervention than could not be avoided.

What would he do with the Gambit-type computer he constructed, how much could he persuade Orac to help him, and what equipment would he need? Who apart from Belkov would be useful in the project? Why did fragments of the dream keep on interrupting?  
For starters with Gambit he would require parts of at least two Pleasure Planet computers, various bits of other equipment which he was sure Blake would let him go and find, and Orac’s undivided attention for quite a few hours.  
‘What do you intend doing with this strange collection of objects?’ Orac suddenly said in his dream.  
‘And I have a rebellion to carry through first,’ Blake added.  
Avon realised he was awake, and he had spoken his last few dream thoughts.  
‘I was making a computer to rival you Orac, which would be more amenable to our purposes.’ He felt fully recovered.  
‘I admit puzzling the Federation out of existence had not occurred to me, but I am willing to consider it,’ Blake said, with a laugh. ‘How are you feeling Avon? Having fought a war, and been slightly damaged?’  
‘It would, however, be possible to do some interesting things with this computer of yours…’ Orac interrupted.  
‘Orac,’ Avon said, ‘try and find the equipment in question and make contact with a Professor Belkov, while we consider more important things.’  
‘Define important.’  
Avon decided to end this probably circular argument. ‘You know our immediate goals Orac – deduce what is important. How do you think I feel Blake? When can I leave the med unit?’ He would indulge himself in a brief dose of feeling sorry for himself as soon as he was alone.  
‘You can leave once you can get to your room unaided. Eager to help me finally win the rebellion – or develop your computer?’ Blake asked with an indulgent smile. ‘And I think you could persuade others to explore the galaxy with the Liberator when we part company – that is your intent isn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘As good a use as any for it.’  
‘Possibly. What is happening? Is Servalan president? Where are we going?’ Ask enough questions and he would not be asked ones he did not wish to answer. And Blake had assessed his intention.  
‘Servalan is still under arrest for attempting to stage a coup and failing to show sufficient promptness in getting to the battlefield. Most of what remains of the military is standing by doing nothing much apart from tidying up minor disruption arising until they can see which way things are going.’  
‘Entirely sensible,’ Avon added.  
‘And you will use your theoretical computer to the same effect no doubt,’ Blake replied.  
‘And what about the Andromedan spaceship and equipment?’ Orac asked.  
‘Use your initiative,’ Avon replied, before turning his attention to Blake again. ‘So are you joining the general free for all? You have what you wanted don’t you?’  
‘We have been invited to go to Earth. The authorities have decided to make use of the rebels until the situation changes – enough joined the fight, or are now in positions to argue their case to prompt a change of view, given the destruction of the Federation’s military resources.’ Blake allowed Avon a moment to react, and continued when there was no response, ‘You *were* going to take me there before other events at Star One intervened. Can we assume that we have had our quarrel on the subject,’ Avon smiled assent, ‘and go on to the next stage of the discussion. I am trying to minimise the risks. Zen – have my requests been received?’  
‘Rebel and neutral forces will be available for back up as required,’ Zen replied. ‘It is requested that the temporary neutrality within the Solar System extends both ways. Various representatives from the independent planets and groupings will also be involved.’  
‘Give them whatever the diplomatic version is of I will agree to neutrality so long as I am certain they’re holding their side of the bargain – and I am willing to discuss any reasonable ideas.’  
‘What about the other, more important, issues Blake?’ Avon asked with a slightly malicious smile.  
‘Which is? You going off with the Liberator as soon as you can justify it? Creating this wonderful computer – or six of them?’ Blake asked. After his dream Avon was uncertain whether he wished to lead any group, however willing to follow his orders. But it was only a dream, and reality was always different. He *might* enjoy having a Del Tarrant arguing back – or providing Blake with one, especially if enthusiastic.  
‘No – what you are going to do once you get there? Half your work has been done for you – and you will be in your element now, negotiating with everybody, till they agree, if only to get some peace and quiet when you go away.’ Avon would acknowledge others’ abilities when he felt it was justified. ‘Do you wish to be President Blake? Don’t expect the masses to thank you – they’ll just go back to business as usual, apart from feeling free to criticise you to your face, and enjoying your mistakes.’  
‘As you do? You enjoy it, so why shouldn’t they? And yes, it is not quite the same.’ Blake was reflective for a few moments. ‘Shall we toss a coin for the Liberator and Orac’s alien ship?’  
‘My ship…?’ Orac began.  
‘You need a crew don’t you?’ Blake said. ‘I am considering my options,’ he added looking at Avon.  
‘You’d find being President boring,’ Avon said to divert attention, and to see what Blake meant by his statement.  
‘Perhaps. Better than saying I’d be useless at it, and others would do better at it,’ Blake said with a smile. ‘I won’t push – let others have a try, and solve some of the problems, though I’ll do my bit.’ Cally came in. ‘Time for me to go now?’  
‘Can you please tell those attempting to contact you Blake, that messages are best transmitted through inferior computers.’ Orac said. Almost an order. ‘I have located some of the equipment required…’  
‘Enjoy the quiet of the med unit while you can Avon.’ Blake said as he rose. ‘And find some interesting places we have good reason to go and explore…’  
‘A strategic withdrawal?’ Avon had come across the idea somewhere. ‘Take Orac with you then.’ It would keep Blake busy with an argument over priorities – and Blake might come up with a plausible course of action.  
As Blake left with Orac Avon considered where he would like to go. Perhaps he would locate Terminal if it still existed – but he would make quite sure that they would circumnavigate any dangerous cloud of particles if discovered. What would Orac’s reply have been to Vila claiming to have constructed it? The idea amused Avon as he drifted to sleep – near dreamless as usual: when he woke he started researching some of the places his dream had identified.

****

They found it strange to be on Earth again, this time not as drugged inhabitants or as furtive rebels but as almost-heroes. The administration treated them ambivalently – they had saved humanity, and the other inhabitants of the galaxy, but they were still acknowledged rebels. Orac had, at Avon’s prompting and after much complaining, placed in the Federation’s analysis computers more developed versions of the suggestion that there should be cooperation with the rebels and neighbouring groupings now that so much of the Federation’s forces had been destroyed. The concept had been taken up by the new government in the absence of better suggestions, until they could reorganise themselves. Avon was developing his computer, while Orac had created enough of a fuss that Blake had arranged for it to be given a Pleasure Planet computer of its own, and Vila was helping them both: Belkov would join them shortly, along with other experts. He was enthusiastic about the concept of Gambit. Orac was also working to get access to an Andromedan ship, of which several had been recovered. Avon found himself caught between the demands of Blake and Orac for their separate ends, along with his own research, and enjoying almost all of it.  
Blake was more or less sticking to the agreement not to promote his cause too blatantly. The group was there for what they had done close to Star One, no more. He had all but admitted to the Liberator group and others that others could take on the leading administrative roles – an offer some of the other rebels were more than willing to take up.  
But, of course, things were different. They could not go anywhere without being conscious of being observed by the general public. The atmosphere had changed – with the Federation’s military power below even minimal strategic levels, and with what Star One provided destroyed, the situation was unstable. The Federation might transform itself without the official leadership intending to, or people like the Zukans of Avon’s dream take control locally – there were those who bore a passing resemblance to the dream figure. 

‘What do you think of being back on Earth?’ Avon asked as they walked around a dome.  
‘It is … crowded,’ Blake replied. ‘And one gets used to the advantages of being on a spaceship. You promised to take me here, and see I was safe, so you are free to go.’ Both were ill at ease, knowing that they were coming to the end of what they had set out to do together.  
‘Once this all this ceremonial is over.’ A series of awards and speeches, now that the Federation was on a route to something that resembled the rebels’ demands: and the rebels were now facing the practicalities of involvement in office. Some, at least, were enjoying the challenge. Avon was enjoying the challenge of constructing his equivalent of Gambit – and Belkov, after contributing some advice, was developing his own version: others were joining in.  
‘I know you would prefer to have your award through the mail, and the money in the bank account of your choice. From which you will promptly remove it before they decide to change their minds – because you have decided to add to it, ‘Blake said with a smile. ‘But this is the way it has to be done.’  
‘Why should what we did be recognised at all – if it wasn’t for your quarrel with Travis…’ They had all kept silent on his actual role in what had happened – there would have been no benefit to it. For the records Travis had just been seeking Star One, reached the planet and died there. Perhaps the best revenge Blake could have on him.  
Blake shrugged. ‘The Andromedans might have eventually found a way through, and we might not have had a chance to defend ourselves until it was too late. We will never know to what extent our argument contributed to what happened – and we both had good cause for our fight, knew why the other fought. Let the historians enjoy themselves arguing over it.’  
‘Half of them by scoring points off the others.’  
‘As we do?’ Blake asked, and Avon acknowledged the remark.  
‘Without Servalan and Travis, and the Federation in disarray with others taking command, who will be our enemies?’  
‘I’m sure we’ll find some,’ Blake replied. They came to the local gateway of the dome. Access to the outside was now freely available. ‘Did you ever leave the domes in the old days?’  
‘Normally for work purposes. Several of the Federation’s establishments were outside the domes, and needed seeing to on occasion – and the high administrators always had their dwellings out in the countryside.’ All Avon would admit to.  
The area close to the domes bore evidence of much movement of people, but they went to a garden that had been created nearby, strolled around it, sat on a bench facing a pond. The water birds approached, hopeful. Blake produced a packet with a few broken biscuits and started feeding them.  
‘What shall I do now Avon?’ He passed the packet to Avon, who threw a few token crumbs before returning it.  
‘You are on Earth, the Federation is to be superseded – isn’t this what you wanted?’  
‘Yes, but. I never thought what I would do when I did actually get to this seat.’ Blake indicated the bench. ‘Nor, given the way they are discussing things, did most other people.’  
‘You wanted to give the masses freedom to choose, Blake. Now you yourself have that freedom.’ Avon understood what Blake felt.  
‘Yes. I know with everything working out as I wanted, I should feel … happy.’  
‘You are now in the “living happily ever after” of the stories.’ Avon teased. ‘And as you see you are bored rigid.’  
‘So what shall I do?’ Blake was almost plaintive.  
‘Apart from writing your best selling memoirs?’  
Blake grinned at him. ‘I didn’t want to detract from your hatchet job on me.’  
Avon laughed. ‘We can decide upon that later. Have you considered what you would like to do for the sequel? Apart from not being President.’ Blake had been reasonably firm in his decision. ‘The trivia of administration would drive you crazy.’  
‘More than you think I already am?’  
‘I considered some of your actions less than sensible.’  
‘And now that I have had success of sorts, will you change your opinion of them?’ They both enjoyed this type of teasing from the old days – not the fraught arguments that had arisen in the search for Star One.  
‘The history books will – but they never record what might have been.’ Avon recalled his dream – events could have turned out that way easily enough. He had not had the heart to investigate Anna Grant’s history fully: he would let that mystery remain unresolved. Most of the places in his dream had proved unmemorable, or had appeared in some minor news story. ‘Make me an offer on the sequel I can‘t refuse. We have agreed on exploration and finding specialist goods… and I told you about Terminal.’ The constructed planet itself – which had never been anywhere near Earth – had long since been largely decommissioned, but there was evidence of successor planets, and Avon was going to pursue the subject further.  
Blake thought for a few moments. ‘The Liberator team – problem solvers unlimited. Go anywhere, investigate anything, resolve any problem that comes our way. How does that suit you?’  
Avon considered the idea – close enough to his own plans – and the others could be persuaded. ‘When you were not fighting the rebellion or looking for Star One, isn't that what we did before? And we will decide upon suitable definitions of what we will take on.’  
‘Agreed then. Who else shall we have?’ The Liberator had room for more crew than its current inhabitants, and Avon and the others had occasionally argued the case. ‘Apart from those we have, and the medic Vila requested.’  
‘Your Professor Belkov, a few researchers, that explorer who got in touch recently.’  
‘A computer that is not self-opinionated…’  
‘I am developing that.’  
They were still discussing the matter when it was time to go back to the Liberator.  
Avon decided he might finally get to enjoy himself.


End file.
